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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476779" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Narcissus Lost His Face In The Mirror He Stored His Image In</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Narcissus lost his face in the mirror he stored his image in <br>while Lady Nightshade was saying grace over the wrong coffin<br>rats from the shipwreck were rowing ashore<br>in the last lifeboat with a trapdoor in it for an emergency exit.<br>The holy men who couldn't speak our language<br>without trying to fix it with an accent of their own <br>were recruiting for an army on the moon<br>to start a new crusade against futuristic infidels<br>who didn't share the same direction of prayer <br>as the wavelengths that reached the ears of the extraterrestrials <br>with high ideals encoded in a scripture of esoteric starmaps<br>that spoke like oracles stoned on volcanic gas<br>so when you asked how things were going, <br>they always answered, perhaps, in an ambiguous tone of voice. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I was sitting in the window of a burning house <br>trying to write poems that smelled like smoke to the Holy Ghost, <br>when you showed up like a stranger's doorway<br>out of my solitude like the bell of a three alarm death knell<br>with the smile that lingered like junkmail on the threshold <br>of a black hole that said jump right in, there's light <br>on the other side of sin if you go through this <br>like a death in life experience in love with cosmic bliss.<br>Who could forget that day you came like a muse <br>up the leaf strewn stairs of an abandoned orphanage<br>looking for a heart you could inspire with the ruse <br>of the poetic refuse you left in the wake of your pilgrimage<br>like the desolation of your absence from the earthbound <br>that languished in the eclipse of your innocence<br>like a spiritual lost and found trying to make sense of itself<br>like a horse with a broken leg on a zodiacal merry-go-round. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I felt the fangs of your crescent moons pierce my flesh <br>like a staple gun under a rosebush in league <br>with an alliance of thorns that liked to see a poet bleed <br>as if the great mystery of love were nothing <br>but a conspiratorial intrigue of sword dancers on drugs<br>though I did everything I could to prove to you I was wrong<br>about the moonrise, you weren't strong enough to be right for once <br>without starting a pogrom that interrogated <br>the light in my eyes for all those dark winter months<br>I never confessed, I never cried out as if ice were my only alibi. <br>I sat in the corner like a left-handed guitar with a dunce cap on <br>and wrote out lyrics that sang like the stars with a lisp <br>on your celestial blackboard until I felt like Sisyphus <br>a note shy of pushing my heart like a moon rock over the top. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">It was the immanental sixties on a grailquest <br>for the objective correlative of a universal paradigm <br>it could fight under as the sign of a revolutionary new design of chaos<br>that made love not war to the thunder of home-made sonic booms<br>in a battle of bands with saturation bombing riffs and rimshots <br>that urged us to surrender to the enemy as if <br>they were dragonflies and quarter-notes of music <br>in a riot of helicopters dropping tear gas over Watts.<br>Even the madness wasn't enough to mollify the sadness<br>of what we lost when everyone turned the lightshows out<br>in the concert halls and went back to the their atavistic law schools<br>to get a grip on the necks of the things they had let go of for a lark.<br>And the last time I saw you, before things went totally dark, <br>you were trying to set fire to my voice-box <br>like a lightning rod with bad wiring shorting out <br>like a bass amp on the stage of your burnt out farewell <br>to the audience that made a gracious bow to your frantic id<br>and headed for the exit like an arsonist long before you did.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Patrick+White">Patrick White</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476779" data-title="Narcissus Lost His Face In The Mirror He Stored His Image In de Patrick White" data-description="Narcissus lost his face in the mirror he stored his image in 
while Lady Nightshade was saying grace over the wrong coffin
rats from the shipwreck were rowing ashore
in the last lifeboat with a trapdoor in it for an emergency exit.
The holy men wh..."></div>
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